I tried to stab him again, but he pulled his hand away just in time.
He was slick, that one.
AND MAYBE I should have realized just how slick, but I’d all but forgotten it a week later.
Corey was set up in the living room, doing homework for one of his required psychology classes. I had the ironing board stretched out behind the couch, ironing the wrinkles from one of my costumes for the show the next night. The TV was on some home repair network where two men claiming to be cousins were fixing up houses, but Corey and I agreed that they were probably fucking, even if they were related.
I was considering what to make for dinner when my phone chimed. Corey tossed it to me and I frowned, not recognizing the number. It was a 520 area code, so at least it was from Tucson.
We need to talk.
I read off the number to Corey, but he didn’t recognize it either. “Are you secretly dating someone and they need to break up with you?” he asked.
“Unless it’s so secret that I don’t even know about it, then no.”
“Ignore it.”
Which was probably the best idea.
And I did.
For five minutes.
And then I just couldn’t resist. Because what exactly did we need to talk about?
Are you breaking up with me?
What
You said we needed to talk. That’s code for breaking up
We’re not breaking up
We’re not?
No. We’re not together to break up
/> Pity
What?
I said PITY
What’s a pity?
That we’re not together. It could have been magic
WHAT
This has been fun
It has!?!
Yes. But I think you have the wrong number
What the hell, Sandy?
“Whoever it is knows my name.” I frowned.